


I Could Be Your Love Song

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, bb!Petopher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Chris and Peter meet as teenagers and neither of them is what the other thinks they are</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Be Your Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaraMcGregor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraMcGregor/gifts).



> Written for the Petopher Secret Santa for the following prompt from maramcgregor: Meet-cute. The first time Chris and Peter met as teenagers. How they asked each other out and discovered their not-so-secret identities.
> 
> The title comes from a line in Mary Lambert's _When You Sleep_ , which was the song I listened to the most while writing this.

Chris Argent is seventeen when he first runs into Peter Hale. Or, to put it more precisely, he's seventeen when Peter Hale runs into him. Seventeen when a boy he'll only later know as Peter careens around the corner, laughing as he looks behind him, and not noticing Chris as he crashes straight into him. They stagger against each other, both of them reaching out to steady themselves, to stop themselves from falling.

Only when Chris is sure he's not going to end up on his ass does he look at the person who slammed into him. Blue eyes, sharp and clear, are looking back, a frown darkening the features they're a part of.

"You really should watch where you're going, you know."

And Chris is about to respond, about to point out that he hadn't been the one who'd run around the corner without looking where they were going, hadn't been the one who'd had to grab at another person to stop themselves from falling into a heap on the street.

But his words are cut off by another figure appearing, small and dark and about ten years younger than either Chris or the boy who is still holding onto Chris' sleeve.

"Peter, Mom said you shouldn't run off."

And the boy, Peter's, face changes, loses the frown to be replaced by a soft smile with a hint of a smirk.

"Well, she's your mom, not mine, monster."

The child (and Chris is sure Monster isn't his actual name, is sure no parents would be that cruel) pouts. "You should listen to her because--"

The words trail away into nothing, like the kid has only just realised that Chris is there.

Peter just grins at him. "Because why, Derek?"

Derek's eyes are wide as he continues to stare at Chris, and Chris wonders if he should say something. Say hi, or ask if there's something on his face, say anything to stop the intent stare.

"Derek?" The name is little more than a word lost in a huff of laughter from Peter.

Slowly, Derek stops looking at Chris, twisting his head until he's facing Peter. "Because," he finally says, with the utter conviction only a child could muster. (Chris knows because he heard it from Katie often enough when she was that age. Still hears it, even now she's older.)

"Well, who am I to argue with that reason?" Peter comments. He turns away from Chris, looking back when he realises his fingers are still gripping the sleeve of Chris' jacket. He doesn't say anything as he slowly lets go of the leather, just raises an eyebrow in Chris' direction, his gaze slowly drifting the length of Chris' body.

Chris bites down on the urge to ask Peter if he likes what he sees, bites down on the words that well in his throat when the look on Peter's face turns distinctly appreciative of what he's seeing.

"Peter!" Because nothing says impatience like a six year old.

Sighing, Peter looks at Derek. "What is it, monster?"

"Can we go and get ice cream?"

The corner's of Peter's lips curl. "Sorry," he says, glancing back at Chris, "love to stay and chat, but ice cream calls." He reaches out, taking hold of the back of Derek's jacket and nudging him down the street.

Chris watches them go, his gaze drifting to Peter's ass in the tight jeans he's wearing. He watches them go, and he realises he never said a word.

-o-

The next time Chris sees Peter Hale, he's standing in Beacon Hills High. His shoulder's aching from the training exercise Gerard insisted he be a part of last night, and he only got about four hours sleep, so he's just about ready for this day to be over, already.

The only positive thing so far is that he's been the new kid in school so often now, he can almost carry out the role without paying any attention whatsoever. (Hi, I'm Chris, I just moved here to this godforsaken place from some other godforsaken place, and my hobbies include basketball, listening to music, and shooting shit that goes bump in the night.)

He's making his way to the secretary's office to report in and find out exactly where he's meant to be, when he notices Peter leaning against one of the lockers lining the hall. And it makes sense that he'd see Peter here. Chris has guessed them to be about the same age, and Beacon Hills isn't so big that it needs two high schools.

He wonders if he should say something. Part of him says yes, and part of him says that he'd be jacking it up to a creep factor of a thousand, considering the only interaction they've had so far involved a lot of smirking on Peter's side and no actual talking on Chris'.

And then Chris is saved from doing anything. Saved by Peter lifting his head and looking directly at him, lips curling into a smile.

"Well, if it isn't the guy who likes to stand in the middle of the street and let people run into him." He glances at the piece of paper in Chris' hand, the letter from the school telling him where to report to, what he needed to bring with him. "Let me guess, first day at our glorious establishment?"

Chris nods. "That obvious?" he asks.

"You do look slightly like you've just stepped into the lion's den."

Chris isn't surprised. He may have done this over and over again, but he still gets that frisson of nervousness walking into a new school, more so than he ever gets when he's preparing to go out on patrol. Then again, considering some of the high schools he's been at, there were at least two of them where facing down a rabid wolf pack would have been the easier option.

"Also," Peter continues, "I would have noticed if someone who looked like you walked down the school corridors every day."

Peter looks him up and down, as he starts to circle Chris, checking out every part of him.

The muttered, "Yeah, _definitely_ would have noticed that," when Peter is behind him, brings a smile to Chris' face.

He waits until Peter's done the full circle of his body, waits until the other boy is back in front of him. "Are you done?" Chris asks.

"For now," comes the reply. Peter pauses as the bell rings, sounding through the school. "The secretary's office is down the corridor. Last door on the right." He turns away, walking away from Chris. "I guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Chris!" Chris calls out, waiting until Peter's looking back at him before adding, "My name is Chris."

Peter smiles. "Peter," he replies.

Chris nods, doesn't say that he already knows, that he remembers from when Peter had collided with him the other day.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills." Peter says as merges in with the stream of students heading into classrooms.

Chris waits until he can't see him any more before continuing down to the office.

-o-

Chris' first classes go entirely as he'd suspected they would. He's the new kid, so he's used to the stares he gets when he slides into one of the free seats, used to keeping quiet until he understands where the teachers are in each subject.

No one talks to him, and that's fine. He heads into the canteen expecting to eat lunch alone, which is why he's surprised when another tray drops onto the table opposite him and Peter sits down.

"I will never understand how they get away with calling this food," Peter comments, poking at the meatloaf on his tray with a fork.

"It's not that bad," Chris answers. He's had worse.

Peter just raises an eyebrow. "If your taste buds have been burned out of your mouth in some sort of freak accident, yes."

Chris can't stop the grin he feels. He'd been wondering if he'd see Peter in his classes, but there'd been no sign of the other boy all morning.

It turns out that's because they don't share any classes, due to Peter being in the year below Chris. They have lunch at the same time, though, and Peter always makes a point of seeking Chris out, of sharing his commentary on both the food and the other students.

It's a barely a month in when Peter stands up to clear away his trash, stands up and tells Chris that it's the first basketball practice of the semester that night. That he should come and try out for the team.

And Chris is tempted. It would be a good way to make other friends in the school. (He ignores the little voice in the back of his head that also says it would be a perfect opportunity to watch Peter run around a basketball court in shorts and getting sweaty.) But Gerard insists Chris patrols on a Thursday night, insists that Chris is old enough to balance both school and hunting. (Not that Chris thinks there's anything to hunt in Beacon Hills. His mom mentioned that the local pack was relatively small and stable, and there have been no reports of strange happenings in the admittedly short time they've been in town.)

"I can't; family obligations."

Peter stares at him for a second, before nodding. "You know where the court is if you change your mind," he says, before leaving Chris alone.

And Chris thinks about it, he does. He thinks about blowing off what Gerard wants, thinks about blowing off being the perfect soldier, the perfect son. Thinks about what would happen if he tried out, made the team. Wonders if Peter would smile, if he'd congratulate him, if he'd lean in close and--

Chris shakes his head. Gerard already has a plan for Chris' life, and kissing Peter against a wall isn't anywhere in it. It doesn't stop Chris from wondering, though. Wondering what Peter would do, if he'd kiss back. There's part of Chris that thinks he would. He's seen Peter looking at him, and it's not like the way Peter looks at other people. Flirting seems to come as easily as breathing to the other boy, but with Chris it's different, not as light, not as carefree.

Not that it could ever go anywhere. No matter how much Chris wants it.

-o-

Gerard has them patrolling the preserve that night. It's a large patch of land, and each of them out there has been told not to go onto the local pack's territory. Gerard glances at Chris' mom as he says it, and Chris knows exactly who that instruction came from. He ignores the look on Gerard's face as his mom told those going out that the pack seemed peaceful, and that there was no need to antagonise them.

Chris gets paired with one of the guys who is nice enough, but who is more loyal to his father than anyone else. And Chris has no intention of spending the night with him, has no intention of passing the time with someone who is just going to repeat words Chris has already heard a hundred times from Gerard.

He suggests splitting up as soon as they're far enough into the preserve that the others won't hear them. They'll cover twice the area in the same amount of time, Chris says. And it's not like they're actually hunting for anything, not like there's anything that's going to happen. His hunting partner looks like he's about to object, but Chris is as much his mother's child as he is Gerard's, has learned words as well as tactics, and he's soon walking further into the preserve alone.

It's a quiet night, and the only thing Chris can hear is the foraging of what sounds like smaller animals. And he knows why Gerard has sent them out here, knows full well his father's opinions on how all werewolves should be put down like the animals they were. Chris also knows it's his mother staying Gerard's hand, knows that even her own husband won't go against the matriarch of the family. So it means Gerard is looking for the slightest opportunity to strike against the local pack without repercussion. Which, in turn, means Chris had to spend a couple of hours checking weapons before being dropped off here for another couple of hours of wandering around in the dark before he can go home and actually start studying for the chem test he has the following day.

It's an hour into the patrol that Chris hears it, hears a soft scraping followed by a growl. And, shit, Chris is trying to remember where the boundary line for the pack territory was, because he hasn't been paying attention (and the voice in his head telling him it's going to get him killed one of these days sounds too much like Gerard for Chris' liking), and he can't work out if he's crossed it or not.

He takes a step back. If he _is_ on the wolves territory then it'll be seen as an act of aggression, and Chris has no desire to be the spark that lights that fire. So he takes another step, and another. And stops dead as the twig breaks under his foot, the crack of it ringing out like a gunshot in the night.

His heart is hammering as his fingers tighten on the gun in his hand. Headshot, or chest shot, he thinks, but only if the wolf attacks, only if--

"Chris?"

His head jerks up at the sound of Peter's voice. The other boy's a few metres in front of him, schoolbag slung over one shoulder, like he's just walking home from the high school, just walking home after practice. But why cut through the reserve, why--

"What are you doing--" Peter's words cut off as Chris shifts slightly, cut off as the gun in Chris' hand becomes visible.

Peter lifts his head slightly, like he's scenting the air, and Chris feels his heart sink. Feels like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, and he's not sure if he's about to fall forward or get pulled back.

And he knows which one it is as soon as he sees the snarl start to curl Peter's lip, sees the flash of amber in Peter's eyes.

"I didn't know." The words are out of Chris' mouth before he can think about stopping them. Because he hadn't. Because neither his mom or Gerard had ever mentioned the local pack by name, because he'd never associated Peter Hale with anything beyond the boy he'd think about when he'd lie in bed, wondering how soft his lips were.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I didn't, I swear," Chris says. "Listen to my heart beat." He knows wolves can tell if someone's lying, can hear the upbeat in their heart. "Peter, I didn't know." And he hopes the fact that he can hear his own blood rushing through him, hopes the fact that he needs Peter to believe him, doesn't mask that he's telling the truth.

And Chris almost holds his breath as Peter just looks at him. Long moments pass, and Chris wonders if the sound of his heart pounding is as loud to Peter as it is to him.

"You're about half a mile past the Hale property boundary line, hunter," Peter says eventually. "I suggest you turn around and leave."

 _Before I call the rest of the pack, before my alpha gets here, before any other hunters come along._ Chris hears all the words Peter doesn't say.

"Peter--"

But Peter's already turned away.

-o-

Peter doesn't sit with Chris for lunch the following day. He doesn't see Peter at all through the day, even though he spends more time than is really appropriate hanging around Peter's locker and waiting for the other boy to turn up.

The day passes in a haze, and he knows he flunks the chem test he'd been so worried about the other night, his mind too full of other things to care about the covalent bonds between elements.

Gerard keeps Chris busy all weekend. Between checking weapons and researching the old bestiary one of his mother's contacts found in a thrift shop, there's no time for thinking about Peter. (Even if that's a lie. Even if Peter's constantly on his mind now.)

Peter's back at school on Monday, pulling books out of his locker and stuffing them into his bag. He doesn't look up when Chris stops next to him, doesn't do anything to acknowledge Chris' presence.

"Can we talk?" Chris asks, his voice low, even though he doubts if anyone would care to listen to them.

"I hardly think there's anything we have to say to each other." Peter doesn't bother to look at Chris when he answers.

And Chris knows he should let it go, knows that there a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea, but he _can't_.

"Peter--"

Peter slams his locker door shut, cutting Chris off. "Leave," he says, his voice resolute.

Only, Chris has never been one to give in easily. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Peter's wrist before he realises what he's doing. And he knows Peter is biting back on his first instinct, knows that only the throng of people still in the corridor, all filtering into classrooms, is the only thing stopping Peter from shifting there and then, the only thing stopping him from roaring his displeasure into Chris' face.

The corridor's emptying quickly, but neither of them move.

"Peter, please." And Chris never thought he'd find himself begging a wolf, but he needs Peter to understand, needs him to know.

"Fine." Peter tugs his wrist out of Chris grip. He glances around the empty corridor, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. "Follow me."

They end up under the bleachers, Peter dropping his bag at his feet as he turns to face Chris. "Well?"

Only now Chris has Peter alone, now he can explain, he doesn't know where to start. Doesn't know how to explain that Peter's been the best thing in Chris' life since his family moved to Beacon Hills, been the best thing in his life since long before that.

Peter huffs a breath out at Chris' silence. "Don't bother me again, hunter," he comments, as he bends to pick up his bag.

Peter's words have Chris moving, have him dropping his own bag and closing the distance between them. There's a small noise of surprise from Peter as Chris' lips press against his, hard and desperate. Peter's still against him, and for a moment Chris thinks he's made a terrible mistake, thinks he's going to be the only hunter to end up with his throat torn out because he dared to kiss a werewolf. 

And then Peter's kissing back, lips opening and hands coming up to tangle in Chris' hair.

Chris presses Peter back, pushes him against one of the metal struts holding the stands up. And he knows Peter wants this as much as he does, because Peter lets him. Lets Chris manoeuvre him back until there's nowhere else to go, lets Chris' hand grab at his t-shirt, the fabric bunching in Chris' fist.

And Chris knows they're acting out a cliché right now, making out under the bleachers, but Peter is warm and willing under his lips, and he's not prepared to move.

He doesn't know how long it is before they break the kiss, before Chris rests his forehead against Peter's and watches as the reddened, swollen lips heal in front of his eyes, leaving no evidence that Chris' own mouth was ever against them. And it makes Chris want to kiss Peter again, makes him want to see the tangible proof that this is happening. But Peter looks at him before Chris can move, before he can capture Peter's mouth again.

"This is insane." Peter's voice is low, soft enough to not carry beyond the space they've made for themselves.

Peter's got a point. They're a wolf and a hunter, it's not like either of them could take the other home to introduce to their families, not like they'd be able to walk down the street holding hands. But even with that against them, Chris still wants it. He wants to see Peter smile just for him, wants to feel Peter's lips under his. He wants to take Peter up to the bluff that overlooks the town and make out until the sun comes up. And Chris knows he should step back, knows that they should turn around and walk away from each other, knows that there are a dozen things he should say, but he only words that make it out are--

"I want this. I want you."

Peter closes his eyes, closes them for a brief moment before he's looking back at Chris, holding his gaze. "Me, too."

Something spreads through Chris at Peter's admission, and he's not sure if it's relief or joy or a combination of both. He lifts his hand, gently cupping Peter's face as he brushes his thumb over Peter's lips.

"Fancy taking on the world with me, Hale?" Even if that's not exactly what Chris is asking, even if he's asking so much more.

A huff comes from Peter, tinged with amusement and something else Chris can't place, sending warm air across Chris' thumb. "Bring it on, Argent," he mouths against Chris' skin.

Chris matches Peter's smile, moving his hand as he kisses Peter again, his tongue lapping at Peter's lower lip until Peter's mouth opens. It's not going to be easy, Chris has no illusions about that, but they'll face it together. Chris and Peter, Argent and Hale, hunter and wolf. And heaven help anyone who tries to stop them.


End file.
